


once you looked at me the same way you're looking at him

by academmia



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Arugments, Canon Compliant, Catharsis, Friendship, Gen, Post canon, THEM t h e m they are BEST FUCKING FRIENDS YOUR HONOR, Unreliable Narrator, no beta we die like like jack manifold and then crawl out of hell, written right after canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 19:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/academmia/pseuds/academmia
Summary: Tommy hates a lot.He hates the way Tubbo looks at him like he's not real. He hates the way Tubbo stands by Ranboo's side instead of his and he hates how Tubbo got married while Tommy was going through hell. He hates Ranboo for taking his best friend away and he hates himself for not being there to stop it. He hates the fact that he never gets a break and he hates the way his hands won't stop shaking.Tommy gets out of prison. It's time he and Tubbo talked
Relationships: Ranboo & Tubbo, Tubbo & Tommyinnit
Comments: 40
Kudos: 556





	once you looked at me the same way you're looking at him

**Author's Note:**

> i watched the stream. pain. "Are you his best friend?" Pain. I sit down. I open a google doc. Two hours later I have almost 3k words. This is the life of a Dream SMP writer. hope you enjoy :D 
> 
> this is set in the canon verse! Not related to the creators at all :]

Tommy hates the way Tubbo looks at him. 

He hates the way Tubbo follows him around and looks at Tommy like he’s some kind of fucking anomaly. He hates the way Tubbo stares at him and refuses to blink as if Tommy is just going to disappear. He hates the way Tubbo keeps trying to make Tommy talk about it even though Tommy has told him several times he doesn’t want to talk about it. So what? He died, he’s died four fucking times it’s not that big of a deal. 

He doesn’t want to talk about being dead. He doesn’t want to talk about the dark, the way his skin burned, and the way his muscles stretched in every direction, even some he didn’t know existed. He didn’t want to talk about the hours and hours of solitaire Wilbur would make him sit through and he didn’t want to talk about Schlatt’s stupid laughter. He doesn’t want to talk about the way time seemed to stretch, about the way he was dead for two fucking months and Sam didn’t care. 

Sam left him in prison for over a month, Sam was an absolute shit warden. Sam had nothing to fucking say to him. How Tommy yelled and yelled, fists shaking at his sides and Sam was deafeningly silent. 

Sam Nook let Jack Manifold take over his hotel, let it be renamed the big Jack Manifold hotel, what a shit name. Jack put his signs over his doors and he was the one to let guests into Tommy’s hotel because Dream killed Tommy and left him to Wilbur’s mercy. And Tommy couldn’t even kill Dream because he was pathetic and couldn’t handle the thought of being alone. He watched the lava pour down, for what felt like years in that cell with Dream and stale potatoes. 

Tubbo was his best friend, the other half of his duo, his best fucking friend, and now apparently Ranboo’s husband.

_ “Is he your best friend?” Tommy had asked, eyes whipping back and forth between Ranboo and Tubbo. Tubbo didn’t say anything. Ranboo avoided eye contact _

_ “Tubbo’s….Tubbo’s one of my best friends.”  _

Tommy wanted to tell Ranboo to respectfully, go fuck himself. Tubbo was his best friend, Tubbo had been his best friend since before Ranboo ever got here. Him and Tubbo, against the world. Him and Tubbo, laughing in the drug band, wearing homemade L’Manburg uniforms. Tommy and Tubbo, unstoppable, unbeatable, unbreakable. They were a duo, a team, they were best friends and now Tubbo stood by Ranboo’s side instead of Tommy’s. 

If Tubbo died, Tommy would never move on. His heart would shatter and...no he didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to think about Dream’s ever-present threat to slit Tubbo’s throat. He wouldn’t replace Tubbo, he could never replace Tubbo, never! And if hypothetically, Tubbo came back to life after going through hell, Tommy would treat him like normal. He would give Tubbo a hug and look him in the eyes and not follow him around like a wanker. He would stand by Tubbo, not get married to some short enderman who had to keep a  _ book _ to remember things. What a nerd. 

Tommy kicked the dirt beneath his feet. The wool statue of him seemed to stare at him. Tommy wanted to burn it to the ground. He just wanted everything to go back to normal. He supposed normal wasn’t something he got. Not if Dream was still around. 

Tommy could settle for normal, he could, but what he couldn’t fucking settle for was losing Tubbo. He wanted to give Tubbo space, wanted to show that he was better, that he wasn’t the explosive and reckless asshole Tubbo had exile, but as he walked down the prime path, Tommy could feel it. He could feel the rage, it burned under his skin and it threatened to jump out of him. 

The sunset behind him, bright blues turning into muted purples and pinks, the shine of stars starting to show. He stood alone, the wind blowing through the hair. He touched a hand up to his face, and when he lowered it his fingers were wet. 

He wanted to scream, he wanted to rage, he wanted to kill Dream, kill Technoblade, he wanted to cry and he wanted Tubbo to look at him the way he did his stupid husband. He was trying to breathe through it, all the loss, but with every second it seemed to undo him. He felt shaky and raw, cold and unfiltered. He didn’t know how to do it, hated how he was expected to take to another war with a smile because Sam wouldn’t fucking listen to Tommy when he told him Dream was planning something. 

He walked home, step by step, for what felt like lifetimes, slamming the door behind him. He collapsed onto his little bed in the corner. The feeling of lying down on a mattress was foreign, but Tommy never wanted to get up again. He didn’t bother changing his clothes, even though his shirt smells like lava and the stench of death. He wanted to stay here, in a house made of wood instead of obsidian, doors instead of lava, grass under his feet. There were flowers outside his door, Tommy realized belatedly, and he wondered who put them there. He reached for the photo on his nightstand without looking, the motion committed to muscle memory. 

He held the picture frame like it was going to shatter, running his fingers over the glass. There they were, L’Manburg. Niki was smiling, and she looked years younger. Fundy was laughing, buckling over from the weight of it. Tommy had his arm thrown over his best friend, and Tubbo was grinning ear to ear. Wilbur held the L’Manburg flag, it was a million years ago and just yesterday. 

Things were so much easier then, when they had a villain and Tommy had Wilbur to take orders from. The days he could take Tubbo for granted, assuming his best friend staying by his side was a fact, just like the sun rising every morning. 

(It wasn’t, Tubbo and Tommy went to go fight Dream. They held hands, and watched the sunrise, for what they thought was the last time.) 

He wished he could fall asleep and wake up here. How did it all go to hell so fast? 

He looked at the picture again, he and Tubbo looked so carefree. Now they were grown up, and Tommy was left wondering when he missed it happening. 

He set the picture down so he couldn’t see it. He pulled the covers over his head and he grit his teeth together. He had to hold himself together. 

\-----

Tommy woke up early. 

Just before dawn, stretching his arms over his head. He waited a few seconds, just wanting a few seconds of quiet before having to face reality. 

When he opened them, he was wood and he breathed out a sigh of relief. Not a Dream. He slid out of bed, throwing on a new T-shirt, a blue one this time, no more red. He pulled on new jeans, and the feel of new clothes on his skin let reality set in even more. 

He walked outside, and he wondered if he could get drunk on fresh air. Tommy thought he could, he would never get sick of this. It was cold outside, but Tommy didn’t care because it was the kind of cold that meant alive. He shivered and his teeth chattered. The wind made him colder and Tommy let it. The sun was rising in front of him, and Tommy stood and watched it. It had been days since he saw the sun, days since he saw anything other than lava, obsidian, and Dream. He wasn’t going to take quiet mornings for granted, not anymore. Tommy was going to enjoy sunrises because Dream couldn’t enjoy them, and there was magic in that. 

When the sun had risen, and Tommy had woken up, standing on the prime path, in front of his house, he started wandering. Just for the sake of having places to walk through. 

_ Walk it off Tommy  _ Wilbur would say, back in L’Manburg when Tommy got angry,  _ Walk it off _

_ Watch me bitch _ , Tommy thought. He could walk better than Wilbur ever could. 

The server had changed since he’d left. The egg had spread, covering every building in blowing red vines. Tommy stepped over a few as he went. There was glass covering the giant creator from Doomsday, Tommy walked across it, staring down into the shattered remains of Wilbur’s nation, beaten into bedrock. 

He walked, not really thinking about where he was going, just caring about the feeling of fresh air filling his lungs and the feeling of his feet moving forward. Tommy couldn’t handle thinking about anything else. 

He walked and walked until snowflakes fell on his nose. He finally looked up. His stomach dropped, sinking as he realized where he was. Snowchester. Tubbo-Tubbo lived in Snowchester.

Tubbo held his breath as he walked in, eying the spruce buildings, torches making a path, Nukes probably somewhere under his feet. There was a mansion now, towering over the other buildings as if they were a child’s toys. That was new.

Tommy walked towards it, feet crunching in the snow, arms swinging as he walked. The mansion was four stories tall, made of large windows and spruce logs. Tommy opened the door, not bothering to knock. 

A fire crackled inside, and the house felt cozier than any place Tommy had been, despite being as massive as it was. 

“Hello?” Tommy called, voice echoing, but there was no reply. He was all alone here, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. He carefully walked across the room, floorboards creaking under his feet. 

There was a table in the room with three seats, and there were bookshelves covering the walls. Tommy finished looking at it, and he climbed the ladder, there was a trap door at the top. He didn’t know people even used trapdoors for letters anymore. It was almost like it was childproofed. He opened the trap door. Good thing he wasn’t a child. 

The room was smaller, warmer and there was a...piglin glaring at him from the top of a chair. 

It growled at him. Tommy glared right back, shutting the trapdoor. A name floated over his head, the brat was named Michael. What the hell was a baby piglin doing in this weird new mansion? 

“Hello, Bitch.” Tommy said. The kid just glared at him, keeping his golden sword in hand. Tommy resided the need to reach for his own ax.

Michael. What a stupid name. 

He turned around, checking out the rest of the room, and what he saw made his head spin. There were portraits, covering every wall, of Tubbo, Ranboo, and Michael. Family portraits. Tubbo was smiling. Ranboo was looking at Tubbo, a fond look in his eyes, one hand on Michael’s shoulder. A proper family, happy and stable, no room for Tommy. 

Tubbo didn’t fucking need him. Tubbo had his own family, his own country, his own life. He didn’t need Tommy, no matter how desperately Tommy needed him. 

“Tommy?” 

Tommy couldn’t stop looking at the portrait. 

“Tommy?” Tubbo repeated. 

“Tubbo...what is this?” 

“That is a family portrait.”

“It’s been 3 fucking weeks,” 

“What?” 

Tommy whirled around, rage pumping through his ears so loud he could barely hear anything else, “it has been three fucking weeks since Dream locked me up. Did you even miss me at all?” 

“Of course I did Tommy!” 

“Well, I don’t think you did!” He said, “In three fucking weeks you got married, you apparently have adopted a fucking piglin and you have a shiny new mansion. Do you know what I was doing the last few weeks while you were off playing house? Dream was torturing me, I died, then Wilbur put me through hell for 2 months and now I’m back from the dead and my best friend doesn’t give a shit about me!” 

“That’s not fair,” 

“You’re right! It’s not fair that this shit keeps happening to me...that I...that I died and you don’t care and now Dream is going to bring Wilbur back it’s not fucking fair-“ 

“Can we please just all calm down, guys I'm sure we can work this out-“ Ranboo cut in. 

“Oh, you don’t get to say shit!” Tommy said, on the verge of laughing and sobbing, “You took my best friend away from me you massive dickhead!” 

“Tubbo doesn’t belong to anyone-“ 

“He’s my best friend.” 

“He’s my husband, and you’re in my house!” 

“Ranboo takes Michael downstairs,” Tubbo said quietly. Tommy’s chest burned and Ranboo looked like he was ready to kill someone. 

“But-“ 

Tubbo looked over at Ranboo and they seemed to have some silent conversation with their eyes. The whole thing was so incredibly rude. Tommy wondered what the hell they were thinking. Stupid thoughts, he bet. 

“Tommy and I need to have a talk,” 

“Okay,” Ranboo said, picking up Michael and giving Tommy a glare. Tommy glared right back at him. 

He and Tubbo are frenzied, they are glaring at each other, angry and loud, and Tommy feels like he is right back on that obsidian wall, standing opposite to Tubbo, Dream staring at them with his emotionless mask. 

“You wanna talk?” Tommy says, and Tubbo nods once. 

“You left me!” Tommy yells, voice cracking, “You left me to rot in that prison for Ranboo, what because he’s better than me? Not as much as a fuck up? Have you always been doing that, have you always been waiting to replace me, and now that you got the chance I bet you’re over the fucking moon Tubbo I bet you’re so fucking pleased with yourself-” 

“You died!” Tubbo shouts. 

Tommy’s words die in his throat. The room they are standing in feels smaller. 

“I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.” 

“I know!” Tubbo says, his voice just as destroyed as Tommy’s, “But it’s the truth, Tommy. You were gone, and I had no clue you were, and Ranboo was there for me. He’s been there-he was the only person on my side when you were exiled and he was there when you died. I needed someone Tommy or I would’ve gone mental. I will never replace you, Tommy, you know that, but I couldn’t just wait forever, not if you were dead.” 

_ No no no no  _ that couldn’t be right. Did he fuck up again? He couldn’t-he did. He left Tubbo, again and again, and he had the audacity to be mad at Tubbo for finding someone reliable. 

He was gone for three weeks, and Tubbo thought he was dead. What did he expect, that Tubbo would just mope around until Tommy came back? That Tubbo would walk to the ends of the earth for him and just wait? That the whole world would stop spinning just because he died. 

The world did not stop spinning. The world went on, no matter what happened, no matter the pain, no matter how much they deserved a second without motion. 

The world keeps moving, and the people move with it. Little boys with war in their lungs fight against it, fight until their bones break, and turn around to find a world that has filled the hole their absences have left. 

Tommy thought he would always be a reliable friend. 

Another thing Dream took from him. No matter how many times Tommy thought he had nothing left, Dream would always be able to take more from him. 

“I’m sorry Tubbo,” Tommy whispers, “Prime, I am so fucking sorry,” 

His knees buckled under him, and Tommy fell to the ground. His knees banged against the spruce wood. He stared down at it, at the floors of Tubbo’s new home. 

Tubbo sits down next to him, albeit more gracefully. He sits on the floor with crossed legs. He breathes his loud and shaky, but somehow the sound of Tubbo breathing calms him down. 

Him and Tubbo, barely breathing on the floor of Michael’s room. Him and Tubbo, scarred and broken and beaten down. 

“It’s okay,” Tubbo says, “It’s not your fault.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

“No,” Tubbo says, “It’s not your fault,” 

“Oh,” Tommy says stupidly, not quite sure what to say. 

“Ranboo can’t sing, you know that?” 

“That sounds like him.” 

“You are much better at singing than he is.” 

“I can’t sing Tubbo,” 

“Exactly,” Tubbo says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “So what does that say about him?” 

Tommy catches Tubbo’s eyes and he laughs, hard and full and he can’t breathe, and Tubbo laughs just as hard. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! I sped ran this(the only way to make sure your fics are canon compliant) I just. fucking love c! tommy and c! Tubbo so much. hope you enjoyed. I know fanfiction isn't about constructive criticism, but if you have any feedback Id like to hear it! I'm trying to be a better writer and i have no clue if it's working 
> 
> I am so happy we had a Friday lore stream so I could finally write something it feel so GOOD!   
> comments rock my world!


End file.
